Читать книгу Jackson's Woman - Maggie Price - Страница 9

Chapter 2

Jackson watched Claire’s face go pale and fear grow in her eyes. He gripped her upper arms. “It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

Beneath his hands, she swayed like a sheet in the wind. “Let’s get you off your feet.”

He hooked a foot around the leg of a chair and dragged it away from a table loaded with china and heavy silver. With a gentle push, he nudged her into the chair.

Dammit, he hadn’t meant to tell her that way—after finding her handyman with his throat slit, the last thing she needed tonight was another shock. Someone wants to kill you. Smooth move, Castle.

When it came to his work, he was never at a loss. Didn’t allow himself to get distracted from his focus. But seeing Claire again had shaken him far more than he’d ever thought possible.

He ordered himself to snap back into control. Now. He couldn’t have her. Logically he knew that. Shouldn’t still want her. Didn’t want to want her. He bit back on frustration. Too much was at stake for him to let the emotional baggage he’d dragged around since she’d walked out get in the way. Right now, Claire Munroe was a job—that’s all she was. All she could be. Ryker had seen to that.

When she clutched the arms of the chair, Jackson crouched, putting them at eye-level. “Do you want some water? Something stronger?”

“I want an explanation.” She let out a long breath, but it didn’t steady her voice. “Who wants to kill me?”

He had found out less than twenty-four hours ago that she was in danger from a man he’d once considered his closest friend. He was still trying to come to grips with that. And everything else.

“Frank Ryker.”

“I don’t know him. Why would someone I don’t know…” Her forehead furrowed. “Ryker. Isn’t that your partner’s last name? The man you consider your mentor?”

“Frank Ryker’s my ex-partner, as of a little over a month ago.”

“A federal cop, your partner, wants to kill me?” There was dismay in her voice now and color was returning to her cheeks. The tight grip she had on the arms of the chair had turned her knuckles white.

“Ex-partner, yes.”

“Why?”

Because of me. His gut twisting, Jackson rose. After Claire had left him, he’d tried to put her out of his mind, and sometimes succeeded. But then he would come off an assignment and let go of the tight control necessary to survival on the job. It was at those times when he eased back his focus that thoughts of her closed in. They hovered around him like ghosts, whispering to him, brushing against him during the night until he thought he might go mad with wanting her.

Those tormenting thoughts had prompted his occasional casual mention of her to Ryker. Although Jackson would like to use the excuse that it was natural for personal feelings to spill out when two friends decompressed after a life-and-death assignment, he was realistic enough to admit he had never dealt with Claire walking away. Hadn’t wanted to. Still didn’t want to. Knowing she’d moved on, was planning to marry a man who could give her the life he never could, had been sufficient reason to stay away.

But Ryker had put Claire’s life on the line, which left him no choice but to face her. And the emotions he’d refused to deal with. Head-on.

He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “It’d be best if I lay out what happened from the beginning.”

“Fine.” Claire rose sharply. “You talk, I’ll listen.”

He watched as she tugged open a door on the pine armoire. She wore a soft denim shirt tied at the waist and slim jeans that molded tightly to her hips and legs. He knew what it felt like to have those legs part for him, wrap around him.

Two years of missing her, of wanting her with him, hit him like a ton of bricks.

Get a grip. He fought to repress the hungry, possessive storm inside him while watching her retrieve a rag and a bottle of cleaning solvent. Knowing he would waste his breath, he bit back the urge to suggest she wait until she felt steadier to clean up the dusting of fingerprint powder the cops had left on numerous items. Whenever she got nervous or upset, Claire was on the move. The night she’d told him goodbye, her pacing had almost worn a path in the carpet of their Cairo hotel room.

He retrieved the mop out of the bucket he’d filled with water and pine-scented disinfectant, then went to work on the bloodstain.

“A little over a month ago,” he began, “terrorists kidnapped an American attaché in Singapore. We got intel he was being held in a warehouse, so Ryker and I set up surveillance until a team from our Mobile Security Division—the equivalent of SWAT—arrived. MSD went in first, then Ryker and myself. Or so I thought until I hit the doorway and realized he’d hung back. A second later, the warehouse exploded.”

“The gash over your eye.” Claire looked up from the brass candlestick she’d plucked off a shelf. “Is that how you got hurt?”

“Yeah, shrapnel clipped me at the same time the blast blew me out of the doorway.” Jackson put his back into the mop as dark anger brewed in his gut. “The attaché and all members of the MSD team died. Turned out the terrorists weren’t inside the warehouse—they detonated the blast by remote.”

“Ryker?”

“Didn’t hang around to check on his pals.”

“And you think, because he held back, he knew the warehouse was going to explode?”

“He and I have gone through a lot of doors together over the years. He’d never hesitated until Singapore. In the split second before the blast, I saw it in his eyes—he knew the place was about to go up.”

Claire set the candlestick she’d dusted aside, then went to work on a cobalt vase. “What happened after that?”

“I woke up in the ER, got my boss on the phone and told him I suspected Ryker had sold us out. He’s like every other DSS agent, has connections all over the world, so it was anyone’s guess where he’d go.”

Just thinking about what Ryker had done—what he intended to do—filled Jackson with a rage so strong he wanted to slam his fist through a wall.

“I remembered Ryker mentioned a place he used as an off-the-book safe house in Kuala Lumpur,” Jackson continued. “Getting from Singapore to Malaysia only takes a couple of hours, so the house was worth checking. Another MSD team got there just as dusk fell. When they burst in, a shadow dashed from around a corner, and they opened fire.”

Jackson’s insides bunched. If he’d known who the MSD team would find there, he wouldn’t have told his boss about the damn safe house, just gone there on his own and dealt with Ryker. But he’d had no way of knowing.

“Was Ryker in the house?”

“No, but his wife and daughter were.”

The rag in Claire’s hand went still against the deep-blue vase. “You wouldn’t take me into Malaysia because it was so dangerous for Americans. Especially women.”

“Still is. Which is why the MSD team had no expectation an agent would risk his family that way.”

The thick-planked floor now clean of blood, Jackson replaced the mop in the bucket. Next on his agenda was the building’s security. He’d already arranged with Liz Scott to have OCPD do hourly patrols, but that was just the beginning of what needed to be done.

“Why was Ryker’s family at the safe house?” Claire asked.

“Emily, his daughter, was ill.” Jackson moved to the shop’s expansive front window. It was mullioned with large diamond-shaped panes. The panes wouldn’t open, which was good, but someone armed with a glasscutter and pry bar could make a silent entry in seconds. Shatter sensors, he determined, before looking back at Claire.

“From paperwork at the safe house we found out Emily had contracted a fever that did major damage to her heart.”

He turned his attention to the shop’s front door. After studying the dead bolt, he sized up the alarm panel, then the door mat. He added additional security devices for all to the mental list he was compiling. “Her only hope of survival was a transplant.”

“Transplants are performed in every state. Why did Ryker risk taking his wife and sick daughter overseas?”

“Emily had a rare blood type which narrowed the chance of finding a heart through legal channels almost to zero. I figure Ryker thought his only hope of saving his child was to buy a heart on the black market. The paperwork steered us to a Malaysian surgeon known to have ties to al Qaeda. He wouldn’t answer questions, but the theory is the black-market heart and surgery would have cost more than a million dollars. Which explains why Ryker sold out.”

Jackson felt his anger growing, a vicious heat that would bubble in his blood if he allowed it to. “Later, we found out Ryker had been selling blank U.S. passports to a terrorist named Hassan Kaddur. After an expert forger gets through with the blanks, it’ll be almost impossible to tell a fake from the real thing. That compromises unknown numbers of Americans on their own turf.”

Claire placed the vase in a display cabinet near a collection of salt cellars, then turned. “None of that explains why Ryker wants to kill me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Jackson moved to the cabinet where she stood. He recognized the Chanel scent that pulsed off her in little waves and made his juices swim. Years of practice had taught him how to present a certain face and attitude to the world no matter how he was feeling. It was an ability he would put to good use as long as he stayed here.

“Last night I got a call from an informant in Hong Kong. Guy named Kim. He said that the night before he’d been at an outdoor market and spotted a man built like Ryker talking on a cell phone. His hair was black instead of blond and he wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses, so Kim didn’t think it was Ryker. But Kim’s always looking to buy and sell intel, so he eavesdropped on the call. When Kim heard the man’s voice, he was even more convinced the guy wasn’t Ryker.”

“But you think it was?”

“I know it was.”

“So, why aren’t you in Hong Kong instead of here?”

“Because Kim overheard the man say Claire and Oklahoma City. Ryker was talking about you.”

Watching her, Jackson saw her breathing turn fast and shallow. Knowing the blame for her fear lay on his shoulders tore him apart. It was all he could do not to pull her against him. Hold her. Comfort her.

“This is crazy,” she rasped, her fingers clenching the dust rag. “Why would Ryker come after me?”

“To get back at me. I’m the only person Ryker told about the safe house. So when the MSD team showed up there, he knew I’d survived the warehouse blast and sent SWAT to hit the house. In Ryker’s mind, I’m the reason his wife and daughter are dead. His coming after you is his way of leveling the playing field.”

“How?” Claire asked, staring up at him in confusion. “You and I haven’t seen each other in two years. We haven’t even talked. We’ve both moved on. Why would Ryker think he can get back at you through me?”

Jackson kept his gaze locked with hers. The huge flaw in Claire’s reasoning was her assumption they’d both moved on. Only she could claim that. He had given it his best shot, but it hadn’t worked. All he’d managed to do was stay away from her.

“When you spend hours on a stakeout, you have to talk about something. Ryker’s pet topic was his wife and Emily. When you and I were together, your name naturally came up. Ryker knows I haven’t been involved with anyone serious since you. He blames me for the death of his family and wants to even the score.”

“His family,” Claire repeated, her face taut with worry. “You lost your parents years ago, but what about Garrett? He’s your twin, Jackson. You should be wherever he is, making sure Ryker doesn’t get to him.”

In a wave, the still-raw grief Jackson had fought hard to hold at bay washed over him. “Garrett’s dead.”

Her face went white and stiff. “When? How?”

“A little more than two weeks ago. He was in a Barcelona restaurant when a bomb planted there in a backpack exploded.”

“Oh, God.” What Jackson had said was terrible enough, but hearing it recited in a flat, empty voice iced Claire’s blood. Whatever grief, whatever anger he felt was masked by a calm, unapproachable expression. But she knew he had loved his twin brother deeply, and the pain he felt must be brutal.

Pure reflex had her dropping the cleaning rag and stepping toward him. She felt Jackson’s pain as if it were her own. She settled her hand on his forearm and murmured, “I’m so sorry.” Beneath her palm she felt his heat, his hard-muscled strength. “I loved Garrett, too.”

“Yeah.” Instantly, he turned away, forcing her to drop her hand.

A dull throb settled in Claire’s belly. She had turned down his proposal and walked out on him. Why should she think he’d welcome her touch for any reason? After all, he hadn’t popped back into her life for old times’sake. He was there because she was in danger. She was his current assignment.

“Do you think Ryker was behind the bombing?” she asked.

“There’s no evidence to indicate that. Which doesn’t mean a damn thing.” He jabbed his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans. “If he was in on it and didn’t want me to find out, he’d make sure he didn’t leave a trail. All I know is that it’s the norm for whatever group is behind a bombing to claim responsibility. That hasn’t happened. But there’s a terrorist cell in Barcelona controlled by Hassan Kaddur. He might have had his extremists carry out the bombing to show Ryker his thanks for funneling all those blank U.S. passports his way.”

Claire picked up a brass microscope, set it back down. “So, with your family gone, you think Ryker has targeted me by default?”

“Something like that,” Jackson said carefully. He could still feel the warm press of her palm against his forearm. Knowing she shared his grief—and his love for his brother—he’d been seconds from dragging her into his arms and holding her. Just holding her until the suffocating pain inside him diminished.

But if he ever had her in his arms again he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go. That complication, at least, he could avoid by keeping his hands off her.

Turning back to face her, he said, “The bottom line is that Ryker’s got you in his cross-hairs. That’s why, before I caught the plane out of Barcelona, I called Tom Iverson at the Homeland Security Office here. I briefed him on Ryker and asked Tom to check on you. He came to Reunion Square this morning. The woman who owns the shop next door told him you’d gone out of town to an auction, but she didn’t know where. It stood to reason Ryker wouldn’t be able to find you, either, before I arrived. When I ran into you on the sidewalk and you said your handyman had been murdered, my first thought was that Ryker had shown up.”

Claire’s gaze dropped to the damp blotch on the floor while a sick feeling crept into her belly. “So, you think it should have been my throat that got slit, not Silas Smith’s.”

Jackson knew she felt guilty enough without telling her she might be right. “I changed my mind about Ryker being the killer after you and I got in here and I saw that some of the stock had been disturbed. And how Smith’s throat had been cut.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Ryker wouldn’t have moved anything which might have tipped you that someone had broken in. He knows ten ways to kill without leaving blood you might spot. And he’d have hidden the handyman’s body. You’d have seen nothing down here that would have stopped you from going upstairs where Ryker would have waited for you. Nothing.”

“Could the killer have been someone he sent?” Claire asked.

“No, his wife and daughter’s deaths are personal. This is something he will deal with himself. I could be wrong, but I don’t think Smith’s murder has anything to do with Ryker.”

“If you’re right, who killed poor Silas?”

“While I’m here, I plan to try to find out.” After all, keeping busy was preferable to going slowly crazy, wanting what he could no longer have.

As he’d done several times during the evening, Jackson flicked his gaze to Claire’s left hand. Her ringless left hand. “I imagine this is going to complicate things for you, but I need to stay here until Ryker’s caught. Before our search of your building I’d have suggested I bunk in the apartment across from yours where Charles lived. But since it’s now a storeroom and crammed full of inventory for the shop, it looks like your couch is the only place available.”

When she lifted a hand to push back her hair, Jackson noted it wasn’t her usual casual gesture. It was a weary one. He heard that weariness in her voice when she said, “I want to tell you I don’t need you to stay here.”

“Claire—”

“I want to tell you that. Because your being here can’t help but make things awkward between us. We didn’t split up under the best of circumstances.”

“Think maybe it’s because only one of us wanted to part ways?” he asked neutrally.

“I couldn’t stay.” Her eyes remained steady on his, but her hands clenched tight. “I tried living in your world, Jackson, but it didn’t work. You know I tried. I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be.”

My wife. Even after two years, he was never quite free from the drag of hurt that came when he thought about the last evening they’d spent together. He’d proposed. She’d said goodbye. End of story.

“So, I want to tell you I don’t need you to stay here,” she repeated, her gaze returning to the floor. “But then I picture poor Silas with his slit throat. And I think about Garrett.…” Easing out a shaky breath, she remet his gaze. “I’m scared, Jackson. Terrified. I don’t want to be, but I am.”

“I’d wonder about you if you weren’t,” he said, and stopped himself before his hand lifted to stroke the dark fall of her hair. “I won’t let Ryker get to you. You have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Her smile was weak and didn’t last. “So, I hope for your sake my couch doesn’t have lumps.”

“I bet it beats the straw mat I slept on recently in a shack in Sierra Leone,” he said.

Nodding, she retrieved the rag and began wiping fingerprint powder off a leather hatbox. “I’m having a hard time accepting that all of this has happened,” she said after a moment. “That I’m not going to wake up in the morning and find out it hasn’t been a horrible nightmare.”

Jackson wondered if she included his presence as part of that nightmare, but didn’t ask. “Wish I could tell you that’s all it is.”

That was a lie. As grave as the situation was, he’d been looking for an excuse to see her again. Just see her, as if that might quell the ache of missing her that went on and on. But he hadn’t made a move because he’d believed certain avenues were closed to him.

He took a step closer and breathed in a long, reckless drag of Chanel. “Claire, since you and I will be sharing space again for a time, there’s a question that comes to mind.”

“What?”

“I heard you were getting married.” He dropped his gaze to her left hand. “And had an engagement ring with a diamond the size of a gumdrop. Just curious why you’re not wearing it.”

With Jackson having moved so close, Claire had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. When she did, his spicy male scent filled her lungs, rekindling memories best left in the past.

At the moment, he was her greatest threat.

“Who told you I’m getting married?”

“Charles.” Jackson raised a shoulder. “You remember what a soft spot I developed for the old pirate during all those times he hammered me at poker?”

“I remember.”

“So, we’ve kept in touch. He mentions you now and then.”

“Does he?” Claire kept her tone cool even as her temper built. Her surrogate grandfather had never once breathed a word about staying in contact with Jackson. And she would skin Charles McDougal alive for discussing her with the man with whom Charles knew she’d intentionally severed all ties.

Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. “I seem to recall Charles said your fiancé is a banker?”

“He is.” She tilted her head. “Are you asking because you need to consult with a financial advisor while you’re here? If so, I’m sure Brice will be happy to meet with you.”

Jackson’s mouth thinned. “My finances are fine. I’m just curious—if you’re engaged, why you aren’t wearing your ring?”

Damn you, Claire thought. Damn you for showing up when she’d spent weeks growing more and more uncertain that marrying Brice Harrison was the right thing for her to do. She’d never had to wonder about the origin of all her uncertainty, not with her system churning with so many unresolved feelings for the man for whom she’d naively tossed aside everything. The man who’d expected her to ignore her ingrained need to put down roots, to make a home, in order to wander the face of the earth forever with him. The man who hadn’t offered to make any adjustments or sacrifices for her.

And here he was, back in her life, poking and prodding.

Fine, she thought. All his sudden presence did was enforce her determination to overcome once and for all whatever feelings she still harbored for him. Because she knew from experience that the instant Ryker was captured, Jackson would feed his need for being on the front lines of danger by taking off for wherever on the globe the hottest trouble was brewing. Just like before.

Fueled by a mix of pride and jaw-locking anger, she tugged the heavy gold necklace from beneath her T-shirt.

“I am engaged.” When she dangled the chain between her thumb and finger, light shot off the four-carat diamond like the tail of a comet. “I slide my ring onto this necklace for safekeeping when I know I’ll be digging through boxes of antiques at an auction.”

She had no intention of telling Jackson that she had driven home from today’s auction totally unsure if she would ever slip the ring back on her finger. “Any more questions?”

He waited a beat, watching her with steady blue eyes that gave nothing away. “No,” he said at last. “That covers everything I need to know.”